


Get Your Shine On

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach Party, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Clarke does a beer bong, Drinking, F/M, IT'S GR9, Raven is gay, Smut, Summer Bonfire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best friends Raven and Clarke are about to start their senior year of college, but not before attending one last back-to-school blowout hosted by the biggest fraternity on campus. The day of drinking at the beach followed by a blazing bonfire to last them through the night holds a promise of fun—if Clarke will let herself relax long enough to enjoy it. It doesn’t help that Raven’s decided to play matchmaker and hook her up with a cocksure frat guy who has an ego the size of of Jupiter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Your Shine On

**Author's Note:**

> This took a hilariously long time to write. I don't know who I am anymore.
> 
> Also, I played with the ages a bit in this. Octavia is 16, Raven is 21, Clarke is 21, Bellamy is 23.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Clarke grumbled, feet propped up on the dashboard of Raven’s old Bronco.

“It’ll be great,” she reassured her, flicking her gaze to the side for half an instant so she could read Clarke’s expression. She looked far away even though she was no more than a couple feet to Raven’s right. “This’ll be good for you,” she tried again.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, unsure.

“Plus, there’s someone I want you to meet.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Raven, you didn’t.” Clarke shifted in her seat, squaring her shoulders to the girl opposite her. “Please tell me you didn’t,” she begged.

“Don’t worry,” she placated, “he’s a great guy. A bit abrasive at first, but—”

“I can’t believe you,” Clarke huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and slamming her shoulder blades into the leather seat.

“Can’t believe I’ve been talking you up for weeks? Gushing about how great you are?” Raven asked, tone edging on offended. “I think _thank you_ is the phrase you’re looking for,” she finished smugly.

“The phrase I’m looking for can’t be uttered in the presence of polite company,” Clarke whispered under her breath.

Raven cocked a brow, unamused. “Are you gonna be this grumpy all day?”

She scowled.

 

* * *

 

Raven bounded over to a broad-shouldered man with his back turned to them, punching him lightly on the arm when she got there. His features tugged into a lazy grin when he recognized her, and he enveloped Raven into a one-armed hug. A second later, the brunette was nodding in Clarke’s direction and leading him back over to where she stood.

"Clarke, this is Bellamy.” Her hand found Clarke’s lower back, giving her a gentle push toward the stern-looking, olive skinned man. He was built like a tree—a tree wearing low-rise board shorts and a tight-fitting navy t-shirt. “Bellamy, Clarke.” Her gaze flitted between the two for a moment before she continued. “I'll just leave you two to chat."

"Subtle," Clarke mumbled, staring daggers into the back of Raven’s head as the brunette skipped off toward the keg.

Bellamy cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. "So you're the famous Clarke Griffin I've heard so much about."

She was gonna kill Raven.

“The one and only,” she replied, putting on her best amicable smile.

“Care to grab a drink?” He lifted his brows and cocked his chin toward the throng of people gathered around the table of liquor, a self-sure smirk curling up his lips.

"Look, I'm sure you're really great and all, but I just wanna hang out with my friends today." Her features pinched together as she delivered the gentle letdown.

"Suit yourself,” he said flippantly, shrugging his shoulders as a show of indifference. “When you change your mind, I'll be the one kicking ass at beer pong."

He didn’t even look back as he jogged away.

 _When_. The nerve on this one… Cast iron confidence that could only be provided by youth and untold hours at the gym. (Not that she was looking, of course.)

Clarke found her way back to Raven, pinching the underside of her arm as retaliation for the surprise matchmaking endeavor.

“He’s a good guy, you know.” A comically timed _whoop_ from the beer pong table punctuated Raven’s praise, and Clarke stared at her with an unimpressed expression. “Okay, so he’s a frat guy,” she conceded. “But he’s been there for me when I needed him, and I think you two would be a good match. You’re a lot alike.”

Clarke had to stifle a snort. Her and a frat guy. _Yeah, right._

“Oh, c’mon. You haven’t been on a date in two years—“

“Because I’m busy!” she exclaimed, voice raising an octave defensively. It was mostly true. She’d thrown herself headfirst into her studies after a bad breakup, taking on an extra job to fill the hours that weren’t devoted to sketching and reading up on art history.

“You’re at a beach with people doing keg stands,” she deadpanned. “I think you can spare an hour or two.”

Clarke continued to appraise Raven with an unconvinced stare, softening it a moment later when she realized that her friend was just trying to help. “Thanks for… thinking of me, but I just wanna drink some alcohol and splash in the water with my best friend.”

Mercifully, Raven dropped the subject. She was always good about that, about never pushing too far. “Well then,” she said brightly. “We’d better get you a drink!”

 

* * *

 

The sun felt warm on her skin as Clarke bobbed in the waves, a mason jar of moonshine clutched loosely between her fingers. Occasionally Bellamy would let out a triumphant roar, and, try as she might to ignore it, she stole a glance every time he did.

He was loud and boisterous and everything Clarke hated about frat guys… sure was pretty to look at, though.

A cluster of people on the beach drew her and Raven’s interest, so they waded to the shallows to get a better look. The top of a funnel could be seen poking out over the heads of the college students, and Raven let out a peal of laughter before sprinting over toward them. Clarke chased after her a second later, pausing only to throw her sundress back over her head.

Just as she was wedging her way through the outer circle of people, Clarke’s eyes found Raven. She was on one knee with her mouth closed around a piece of clear plastic tubing. Bellamy stood above her pouring beer into the red funnel as the rest of the onlookers chanted, “Pull! Pull! Pull!”

The last drops of the amber liquid disappeared and Raven popped to her feet victoriously, throwing both fists into the air as people applauded her.

Bellamy handed the bong to a goggle-wearing kid to his right. “Atta girl, Reyes,” he praised, clapping her on the back. Bellamy’s gaze next fixed on Clarke and a playful glint sparkled in his eyes. "You're up!"

Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. "No way," she said, laughter lacing the words. Raven chuckled, beckoning her over enthusiastically.

"What's the matter?” he challenged. “Afraid you'll ruin your pretty dress, princess?"

"No,” she shot back stubbornly. “And don't call me that."

"C'mon, _princess_ ,” he goaded, reveling in the way her eyes flared at the nickname. “Live a little."

Clarke held her ground for another breath before her pride got the better of her. She marched over to where Bellamy was standing, dropping to a knee and holding out her hand expectantly, eyes never leaving his. The kid with the goggles – Jasper, she remembered – fulfilled her request a moment later, placing the tubing in her outstretched palm. Bellamy grabbed a fresh can of beer and claimed ownership over the funnel once again. He tipped his brows up at her in question and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Pour it, asshole.”

He laughed, a big grin plastered to his features as he obliged. The bubbling liquid filled the tubing, and Clarke traded her thumb for her mouth as she created a tight seal and allowed the hose to straighten out.

She downed it in three pulls, leaving Bellamy gaping as she threw the tubing aside and padded over to Raven, cheers from everyone following her path. Her friend met her with a raised palm and Clarke was all too happy to slap it.

Bellamy regained his composure a second later and shouldered his way through the crowd so that he was standing next to her. Raven took that as her cue to duck out, leaving Clarke alone once more with the curly haired devil.

"Who knew?” he chided. “Princess has a wild side."

"I have a lot of sides,” she returned easily, wiping the liquid from her chin with the back of her hand as she made a mental note to flog Raven later. “And for the last time, my name is Clarke."

"Princess suits you better," he winked, teeth biting into his lower lip after the last syllable.

"Whatever, Bellamy,” she scoffed. “Don't you have a rousing game of beer pong to get back to?"

"Not really," he shrugged, actions matching his tone.

"Well, could you at least go annoy someone else? _I'd_ like to get back to having a good time," she said sarcastically.

He paused, mouth forming around a thought twice before finally saying it. "I wanna show you something."

"Ha—oh, you're serious.” Her bark of laughter was quickly silenced by the flash of vulnerability behind his eyes. “Um. Okay."

"It's just a little ways down the beach," he mused, the familiar confidence returning to his tone as he angled his head to the side.

"Yeah, okay. Just let me tell Raven real quick. She'd freak if she turned around and didn't see me."

Clarke took even strides over to where Raven was seated on a log, bending down to whisper in her ear that, first and foremost, she was a horrible friend for leaving her cornered with Bellamy, and also that she was taking off with him for a bit. The brunette pinched Clarke’s arm playfully, reclining backward so that she could wink at Bellamy. Clarke was glad to see that he rolled his eyes in response.

Feet sinking into the sand as she walked, Clarke made her way back over to where Bellamy was standing. “So,” she panted. “Where are you taking me?”

A smile stretched across his face and he rounded on his heel without answering her. She sighed loud enough for him to hear but took a few quick steps to catch up.

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t lied. They hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards down the beach, and she could still hear the muffled yelling of drunken college students when he’d stopped walking. Extending an arm in guidance, he directed her toward a small tidal pool. It was protected from the onslaught of the ocean by jagged rocks, their height blocking the worst of the crashing waves.

Starfish of all colors clung to the walls of the safe haven, their arms stretching and overlapping lazily. A few shrimp skittered about, darting from place to place as if they were searching for something.

She’d never seen anything like it.

"This is amazing!” she breathed, astonishment stealing the air from her lungs. “How did you know this was here?"

"My mom used to bring my sister and me to this beach when we were younger,” he supplied, the explanation rolling over his teeth as though it were the most mundane piece of information in existence. “Octavia always loved coming over here because she could touch the starfish." His mouth ticked up in an affectionate grin.

"She's younger than you, isn't she?" she asked, her eyes focused on a bright orange sea star as her fingers dragged through the water. It was more rhetorical than anything. Bellamy was definitely an older brother.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"It's the way you said her name," she explained, her lips stretching into a lazy smile.

Bellamy furrowed his brows, confusion coloring his features.

"Protective. You sounded protective," she supplied a moment later, dipping her head toward him as she spoke.

"Jesus,” he sighed, “maybe O was right."

"Hmm?" she inquired absentmindedly, fingers tracing the outline of an unknown purple creature.

"We got in a fight yesterday,” he sighed, one hand going to his neck to rub at the skin. “I wouldn't let her come tonight— _she's only sixteen_. She said I was being overprotective, that I was smothering her."

"It's not really any of my business, but shouldn't your parents be the ones making that call?" Clarke regretted the words as soon as she saw his reaction to them. His muscles tensed, he stopped breathing, his jawline hardened, his eyes went cold, and Clarke knew what was coming before he had said the actual words.

"Our parents are dead." He sounded distant, almost robotic.

"I'm—I didn't know." She could kick herself for being so crass.

"No, it's fine. You had no way of knowing that." He gently shook his head from side to side, brows creasing softly.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the air between them. Clarke removed her hand from the tidal pool, wiping the stray water droplets on her dress after giving her wrist a good shake. She wasn’t sure what to say or do, and he wasn’t really giving her any clues, so she decided that repositioning herself on the rock next to him was her safest option.

“Thanks, by the way,” he said after a moment, knocking his shoulders into hers lightly.

One corner of her mouth ticked up, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. “For what?”

“Not saying you’re sorry,” he replied, jaw clenching mindlessly. “Most people do.”

“I know,” she agreed, lamenting the admission a moment later when she caught a glimpse of his expression.

He got that look on his face again, the one that demanded Clarke provide further explanation.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself to deliver the same mechanical response she’d given hundreds of times. But at the last minute, she instead chose to be more sincere. “My dad passed away when I was sixteen. All anyone could say to me for weeks was _sorry_.” Her face scrunched up at the memory, eyes glazing over. “I hated it.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, whipping her head toward him.

Clarke managed to keep the scowl on her face for a good three seconds before succumbing to a fit of laughter. Bellamy followed soon after, his whole body shaking from the exertion.

She found her breath again a few seconds later, laughter replaced by a genuine smile as her eyes dragged over Bellamy’s form.

"I think,” he began, pausing to stand up from his perch on the rock and offer Clark an outstretched hand, “it’s about time that you and I wipe the floor with those two." He nodded in the direction of the beer pong table where two guys were _whooping_ and high-fiving. She recognized one of them as Jasper. "How's your aim, princess?"

The way his eyes lit up made Clarke’s stomach flip.

She allowed her palm to slide into his, using his help to extricate herself from the rocks before he released her hand. Immediately, she felt its absence.

“It’s alright.” Her shoulders raised, mouth ticking down into a modest frown.

It was more than alright. She was well known as the reigning beer pong champion among her circle of friends in the College of Fine Arts.

By the time they made it back to the party, Jasper had just sank the game-winning shot. He and his partner, Monty, bumped chests before loudly proclaiming, “Who’s next!?”

“We are,” Bellamy yelled back, crossing his arms in front of his body as he tilted his gaze down toward Clarke.

She angled her neck to meet his stare. Her eyes glinted and a confident smirk turned her mouth upward at the corners. “We are,” she repeated.

 

* * *

 

Jasper and Monty were easy prey. They got the first shots, of course, but after that, Bellamy and Clarke had made quick work of the two boys.

House rules dictated that if both people sank their shots, they got to go again. Clarke and Bellamy succeeded in doing this four times in a row and managed to eliminate eight cups in only a matter of minutes. On their fifth round of shots, Clarke had made hers but Bellamy’s had bounced off the rim of the last cup standing. She glared at him, unimpressed that he’d managed to ruin their would-be-perfect game.

While she was busy glaring at Bellamy, Monty stealthily bounced a ball into their triangle of cups, letting out a loud _whoop_ to brag. This only caused Clarke to intensify her stare; bounce shots were worth two cups.

“This is your fault, you know,” she admonished, plucking two cups from the bunch and combining their beer into one.

Bellamy watched her, confused. “How exactly is it _my_ fault?” He held out his hand to accept the double serving of alcohol, convinced that he was being forced to drink both their shares as punishment.

“If you hadn’t missed your shot, I wouldn’t have been glaring at you,” she drolled, waving the cup through the air dramatically. “And if I hadn’t been glaring at you, I would’ve been able to prevent that _bullshit_ _—_ ” she briefly flicked her gaze toward Monty as she emphasized the word, “—bounce shot from going in.”

Clarke lifted the red cup to her lips, downing the liquid in a few quick swallows before curling her fingers around a tiny white ball. She grinned up at Bellamy through a fan of lashes.  “This is how it’s done,” she boasted, a second later releasing her shot and confidently rocking back on her heels when it found its mark.

When she next looked at him, his mouth was hanging open in appreciative awe.

“Holy hell, will you mar—“ He abruptly stopped mid-word, but Clarke was sure he was about to ask her to marry him.

Dropping her head to the side, she innocently batted her eyelashes. “Will I what?”

“Uhh…” he cleared his throat, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck nervously, “play another round with me?” His brows pulled together, hopeful.

“What’s the magic word?” she teased in a sing-song voice.

He chuckled, stepping closer and reaching a hand up to brush a stray hair from her face. “Will you play another round with me _please_?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Four games of beer pong later, Clarke and Bellamy decided to step down from their position as table runners. No one had managed to dethrone them, and they were starting to feel a little bad about their slightly obnoxious winning streak.

As the sky started to turn from blue to pink someone set fire to the towering pile of driftwood and logs, a blanket of heat radiating outward from the flames. Clarke and Bellamy hung back a ways, seating themselves on a fallen tree trunk whose bark had been eaten away by the unforgiving salt air.

Bellamy told her stories from his undergrad years—about the time he and his pledge class had been pressured into filling a dean’s office with thirteen chickens (“We didn’t realize they were going to lay eggs!”), and the time he’d played a game of King’s Cup behind the library stacks (“Best night of studying in my entire academic career.”), and the night he’d been dared into streaking down Greek Row (“It wasn’t even a big deal,” he assured her). It was a rare moment that Clarke didn’t have a smile on her face and laughter flowing from her lips.

She told him about the mural she’d painted at the hospital—the pediatric ward, specifically—where her mom worked (“I wanted to pull my hair out by the end, but the kids love it.”) and about a prank all the graphic design students had played on their favorite professor (“We didn’t know he was allergic to cats!” she exclaimed as he gaped at her). She giggled violently through a story about the time Raven, her mechanical engineering major roommate, had attempted to construct a Rube Goldberg machine inside their tiny apartment (“She used one of my thongs—said it was for science.”). Bellamy found himself mesmerized by the way her eyes glinted in the firelight as she spoke, and he unconsciously leaned in closer to her with each draw of breath.

Feeling the ocean breeze sweep up around her, Clarke was suddenly made aware of the bareness of her arms and the deep navy color which the sky had become. How long had they been talking? She rubbed a hand along her bicep, using the friction to bring some warmth back to her skin.

“I’m gonna, um…” she trailed off, smoothing the thin sundress down over her legs and slowly standing up from her seat on the log. “I’m cold. I’m gonna go change.” She tilted her head toward the portable tents that had been set up for just that purpose.

He downed that last sips of alcohol in his cup and straightened himself to his full height. “Yeah, I think I might do the same.” Stretching his arms over his head, the hem of his shirt rode up past the top of his boardshorts. Clarke fidgeted with her empty glass, desperately trying to not focus on the sliver of skin he’d inadvertently exposed.

She shook her head to distract herself. “Right. I’m—” The way his lips curled up made her temporarily forget what she was saying. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she finished, rushing the words so they didn’t escape her again.

“See you soon, princess,” he called after her, a warm lilt coloring his tone.

As she was walking away, she snuck a glance over her shoulder—just in time to see him peeling the dark blue crew neck over his head. It was the first time she’d seen the bared skin of his torso, and a flush of red colored her cheeks, the strong curve of his shoulders making her feel a different kind of heat than what the bonfire provided. The way the orange glow from the blaze danced across his tanned skin made Clarke draw a deep breath, and she had to tear her gaze away so no one would catch her staring.

Her pulse pounded a little more rapidly as she walked over to retrieve her change of clothing, the image of a shirtless Bellamy seared in her mind. By the time she finished throwing on her top and shorts, she’d managed to force the pink from her cheeks (albeit with great effort).

She picked up a fresh drink on her way back, passing close to Raven and giving her friend a wink when she saw the group of girls gathered around her.

Eventually, she came to a stop next to the spot where they’d been sitting before. Clarke had changed into an old pair of cut-offs and an oversized cream colored sweater, long sleeves dragging her wrists and wide neck sliding off one shoulder. A few moments later Bellamy sauntered back over in dark denim trousers, a white undershirt, and a deep, earth-toned plaid button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Sighing appreciatively, Clarke allowed her eyes to trace over his form, pausing on an area of his shirt where the wind had pressed the thin white fabric flush against the outline of his muscles. She noticed that was doing the same to her, only his gaze lingered on the long line of her legs.

They’d fallen back into comfortable conversation easily enough, though Bellamy was now protesting her request that he take her for a spin around the bonfire once or twice.

"I don't dance," he deadpanned.

The music had been cranked up and a circle of people had gathered around the burning pile of wood to move their bodies to the sound. Clarke was halfway through another cup of moonshine, and her hips were gently rocking from side to side to the beat of the kick drum.

"Oh, don't be such a wet rag.” She had a nice buzz going, which never failed to bring down that all-protective wall she normally had in place around her. It made her bolder, too—more honest. “Besides, the way I see it, you owe me one." She brought the clear glass to her lips, tipping it back to take another sip of the fiery liquid.

"Oh yeah?" Bellamy raised his brows and tucked his chin to his chest, staring at her incredulously.

"Yeah,” she returned evenly. “I did a beer bong, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, princess," he said fondly, eyes twinkling with the memory.

"I hate beer bongs," she grumbled. "So!” she beamed, “You have to dance with me. That'll make us even."

"Fair enough. Let me just—" Before he could finish, Clarke plopped her drink down and was dragging them into the crowd of swaying people, her fingers tightly wrapped around his own.

When she stopped abruptly, he bumped into her, instinctively reaching his free hand around her waist and pressing a palm to her stomach to keep her from falling forward. As he went to withdraw it, fingertips sliding slowly over the vee of her hip, Clarke covered his hand with her own to halt the motion. She allowed her other hand to slip from his grasp and brought it up to his neck.

Bellamy went rigid behind her when she began rolling her hips from side to side, her ass gently rubbing against the front of his jeans. He relaxed a moment later, bringing his open hand to rest just below the bones of her hip, the pads of his fingers hot against the skin underneath the hem of her shorts. With a renewed confidence, he curled the fingers of his other hand into the pliable skin of her waist, tucking her closer to him.

The rhythmic beat of the slow country song guided their movements, and Clarke began to exaggerate the subtle grinding motion when she felt him stir against her. He pushed out a sharp breath, rustling the curtain of hair covering her ear.

Clarke grinned, happy at the effect it had on him, and twined her fingers through the dark curls at the base of his neck. Angling her jaw to the side, she dropped her head back into the cradle of his shoulder, reveling in the way his chest rumbled against her back.

The feel of his toned body pressed flush against hers, the way his touch sent sparks of heat through her limbs, the faint scent of musk and sea salt that clung to him, the small groans that caught in his throat before they could ever escape—it was torture, and it was taking an embarrassing amount of self control for Clarke to not shove him to the sand and have her way with him right then and there.

Bellamy brushed his lips against the hollow beneath her jaw, lingering just a moment before wrapping both arms tight around her ribcage and hugging her to him. “You wanna get out of here?” he whispered into her skin, voice low and gravelly.

“God, yes,” Clarke returned, sounding a little more desperate than she’d intended. She could feel him smile against her as he pressed one more kiss to the top of her bared shoulder.

This time it was his turn to thread his fingers through hers and drag her behind him. She stumbled at first, struggling to keep pace, but then she took off sprinting, determined to beat him to the spot she knew he was directing them toward.

Clarke squealed when he caught up, turning around and holding her arms out in surrender when he made a show of tackling her. Instead, he swung her off the ground and held her in the air until she locked her legs around his waist and rested her forearms on either side of his neck. Allowing her to sink comfortably into his embrace, Bellamy splayed one hand across the small of her back, the other going to her neck to pull her in for a kiss.

The once steady bloom of heat emanating from her core suddenly erupted into an inferno and she let out an involuntary moan. Bellamy swallowed it with another press of his mouth, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips in a silent plea to deepen their contact.

She leaned into him, anchoring her fingers in his hair as she took his bottom lip between her teeth. He groaned, flexing his arms to bring her closer as he walked them back toward the tidal pool.

Panting, Bellamy tore his mouth from hers and moved to nip at the delicate skin of her jawline. She whimpered and ground her hips against him, yelping as his knees buckled and they dropped to the sand. He caught them, one hand coiled tightly around her waist, holding her to him, while the other supported both their weight.

Lowering her to the ground gently, he retracted his palm from its place on her lower back and ghosted it down the length of her leg. She shivered into his touch and sank her teeth into the fullest part of her lip, turning her head to the side so he could better nuzzle that spot on her neck that was making wetness pool between her thighs.

The waves crashed softly against the nearby rocks, the sound nothing more than white noise in Clarke’s ears as she listened to the shaky breaths Bellamy was drawing. Hovering above her, he circled his the tips of his fingers around her knee and continued to drag them back up the inside of her thigh. They grazed along the hem of her shorts, stopping just shy of where she wanted him most.

She bucked her hips against him, arching into his touch as her thighs clamped down on his hips to force him nearer. He let out a breathy laugh, which earned him a frustrated stare from Clarke.

In one smooth motion, she flipped them so Bellamy was underneath her. After the initial shock wore off, he bent at the waist, sitting up to meet her as his arms mindlessly circled around her again.

She worked her hands under the collar of his shirt, dragging the fabric with her as she slid them over his shoulders and down his arms. He released his grip on her just long enough to fling the garment somewhere off to the side and strip the second one off, and then his arms were crushing her to him again, snaking under her sweater and sending a jolt of electricity through her body wherever their skin touched.

He was so warm, so solid, so—moving at a glacial pace, she realized.

Clarke hooked two fingers under the waistband of his jeans, a sly smirk pulling at her lips when the button released.

“Easy, princess,” he cautioned in between kisses, attention devoted to trailing a line of them down her neck. Latching onto her pulse point, he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“You’re moving too slow,” she groaned.

Pulling back , Bellamy brought a hand to her cheek. “You deserve nothing less than someone who will take their time with you.” His eyes were soft as they took in her features, a finger curling around a piece of hair that had fallen in front of her face. He pressed his lips to hers then, so tenderly that it made Clarke’s breath hitch and her heart clutch in her chest.

Panic suddenly crashed over her like a rogue wave and she struggled to hide the tense of her muscles from him. She was completely exposed, even with all her clothes on, and it made her feel dangerously vulnerable.

“You know what,” she shook her head, feigning a sudden memory while a forced grin pulled her mouth to the side, “I promised Raven we wouldn’t stay too late. I’ve gotta get back.” She raised her shoulders, trying to convey that it just couldn’t be helped.

Bellamy immediately withdrew his hands, placing his palms flat on the sand behind him as his brows furrowed in confusion. In that instant Clarke understood that she could trust him fully… could, but wouldn’t. “Wait, what? Did I do something wrong?” His first reaction was to direct the blame inward, and it made Clarke want to slap herself. “I’m sorry if I pushed—”

“No, it’s—” _it’s that the last time I felt this way I ended up getting my heart broken._ “I just have to go see Raven.” She used his shoulder to push herself up to standing, pretending not to notice the way his gaze mournfully followed her actions though his body remained as still as a statue.

“Well, can I call you?” he asked, swallowing a lump in his throat through clenched teeth.

Taking small steps backward, she replied, “I’ll call you.”

He laughed humorlessly, pinching his lips together in a small frown. “You don’t have my number,” he said plainly, a pained crease deepening in the skin between his brows.

“I’ll get it from Raven,” she called over her shoulder, the thudding of her heartbeat drowning out his pleas for her to come back, though she could tell from the variance in pitch that he’d finally stood up.

She quickened her steps.

Clarke found her friend curled up against a piece of driftwood, a playful glint in her eyes as she rambled on about nothing in particular and traced small circles into the skin of a dark haired beauty wearing a scarlet sundress.

Gripping her shoulder to get her attention, Clarke tried to impress upon Raven the urgency of the situation. “We’re leaving,” she said firmly, eyes wide like those of an animal caught in a trap. “ _Now_.”

Raven’s features scrunched together questioningly. “What? Why? Clarke, I’m sort of—” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bellamy pacing toward them, hair mussed up and and his plaid shirt dangling from one hand. “Oh,” she acknowledged, eyes raking over Clarke and understanding that two years hadn’t been enough time for her heart to heal. “Okay, okay,” she soothed. “We’re gone. I’ll grab the stuff, meet me at the car.”

“Thank you.” Clarke breathed a sigh of relief, the tension that had been coiled in her limbs finally releasing.

“Go, get out of here,” she said, flicking her chin to the side. “I’ll handle him.” She smiled reassuringly, gears already turning to invent some excuse that would satisfy Bellamy.

 

* * *

 

Clarke rolled her head against the worn out neck support. “Sorry about the vag-block,” she said contritely.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Raven removed one hand from the steering wheel and fished two fingers into her jacket pocket, a second later producing a crumpled up piece of paper. “I got her number.”

Clarke smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” she said, mostly to herself.  “I just—I freaked out.” Her lips pressed together softly, brows turning up for a split second in what looked like an apology.

“Happens.” Raven brought her shoulders toward her ears, holding them there for a moment.

“Is there something wrong with me?” she said disparagingly, lips turning up in revulsion as she stared unblinkingly through the windshield.

“Of course not,” Raven said firmly, tearing her gaze from the road to look at the blonde.

Clarke hummed, unconvinced.

“You were engaged,” Raven started, pausing before she continued, “and the asshole dropped you like a sack of flour.” At the very edge of her vision, she saw Clarke gulp. “That takes time to recover from.”

It was something she didn’t like to think about, the way he’d just walked away from her like the almost five years they’d been together had meant nothing. “Yeah,” she mumbled, voice small.

“I’m sorry I set you up with Bellamy,” Raven said after a few moments of silence. “I should’ve asked first.”

“No, it’s—he’s great. You were right.” Clarke nodded, gritting her teeth and staring at the ever-changing patch of road illuminated by the headlights. “I’m just… I’m just not ready.” Her brows knit together dolefully.

“That’s okay,” she shrugged. “Means you can spend more time with me eating pizza and watching bad sci-fi movies.” Raven threw a lazy smile her way, teeth flashing. Clarke was just barely able to recognize the glimmer of sympathy hidden behind it.

 

* * *

 

Clarke took her normal seat at the front of the class—the same one she claimed at the beginning of every semester—and settled in to unpack her notebooks and pens. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to the course, but it fulfilled a core requirement and history was moderately intriguing to her.

Someone folded themselves into the seat next to her, annoyingly clearing their throat a moment later. “Morning, princess.”

_No way._

Her head snapped up so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “B—Bellamy?”

“In the flesh,” he said, looking pleased.

“You can’t be here,” she pushed out in one sharp breath, eyes wide.

His grin dropped and he appraised her as though she were some sort of complex puzzle. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, not unkindly.

She had to get out of there. Without thinking, Clarke began gathering her things and shoving them back in her bookbag.

“Don’t bother,” he said with a low laugh, making a motion with his hand to suggest she stay put. “I’m getting up in a second anyway.”

The door opened, shocking Clarke out of her panic. A slight woman with smooth black hair and soft, rounded features strode in, setting a leather binder down on the front table. Bellamy rose to his feet and greeted her with a handshake. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she returned the welcome.

“Morning, everyone!” she said brightly, garnering the attention of the thirty-some-odd students filling the lecture hall. “I’m Dr. Cartwig—though you’re welcome to just call me Callie—and I have the pleasure of guiding you through European and Asiatic history over the next four months.” Clarke wasn’t going to last four months. She wasn’t even going to last one ninety-minute class period the way things were currently going. “This is Bellamy Blake, my graduate assistant. He’ll be grading papers and teaching a few classes this semester,” she finished, smiling kindly.

Bellamy gave a single flick of his wrist to the students in the class in lieu of a _hello_ , eyes finding her as he did so.

Oh… _shit._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have plans for a part 2. No, I do not know when I will write or post it.
> 
> Reviews give me life, so don't be shy :)


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